


The Valentine Incident

by williamspockspeare



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: First Kiss, Flowers, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, Mild Angst, Romance, Secret Admirer, cute as hell, shameless flirting, the enterprise crew having a fun time together, valentines day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:33:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22609333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/williamspockspeare/pseuds/williamspockspeare
Summary: In which Jim uses traditional Terran techniques to woo his very un-romantic Vulcan first officer.
Relationships: Christine Chapel/Nyota Uhura, James T. Kirk/Spock
Comments: 51
Kudos: 333





	1. Friendly Persuasion

**Author's Note:**

> This work was inspired by nonbinarysaavik's Tumblr post: https://nonbinarysaavik.tumblr.com/post/182074944320/valentines-day-is-coming-up-so-i-want-you-all-to

February 14th and Jim Kirk had an extremely poor history.

Far too often, he had spent that particular date alone. In grade school, he changed education centres the day before, and had to watch a class full of people receive chocolates and cards, while his little pink and red box sat empty. Carol Marcus had broken up with him over PADD-messenger on Valentine’s, while he’d been browsing engagement rings.

It was almost as though the universe was trying to send him a not-so-subtle sign.

Well, Jim believed in making his own fortune. 

Something about the day – or rather, something about him – refused to sour. Valentine’s was for lovers of all existence. And love was the essential human trait. It bound the galaxy together, made life worth living.

So, against all signs or warnings, Jim held out hope for his own romantic prospects. He had been known to succeed in the face of the improbable, after all.

Therefore, it was a very pleasant surprise when the senior crew came to him with the idea of the Enterprise officially celebrating Valentine’s Day.

Apparently, he wasn’t the only human with the hopeless romantic bug on board. With the announcement of their plans sent out over the intercom, each member of the crew got vigorously in the spirit of things.

Lieutenant Uhura and Nurse Chapel, who had suggested the event in the first place, organized a tight schedule for the preparations. Under their direction, teams banded together for card-making, decorating, chocolate distribution, and candy heart personalization.

Mr. Sulu chattered incessantly about card designs (his latest obsession was graphic artistry). Chekov nearly broke the ship’s replicators making hundreds of tiny Russian flags to adorn his valentines. Down in engineering, Scotty ran dangerously close to over-stepping inebriation regulations, mixing up personalized shots for each of the senior staff. Even Bones, despite grumbling about the assured spike in STD’s and mononucleosis, sent a begrudging ship-wide memo that he preferred white chocolate, _thank you very much_.

Quicker than Tellarite food poisoning, the entire crew was infected with valentine fever.

In fact, only one person seemed immune. And of course, it was the man Jim had been most excited to celebrate with.

“Would it not be more efficient to send digital correspondence?” Mr. Spock’s brows furrowed at the letterbox Nurse Chapel handed him. No doubt he judged it the latest in a long line of emotional conundrums provided by his most illogical shipmates. “It would reduce the consumption of raw materials significantly.”

Someone had taken the trouble to pre-decorate Spock’s letterbox – clearly anticipating non-compliance on the grounds of workplace efficiency or something equally logical.

And Jim was glad they had. There was something particularly endearing in the puzzled tilt of Spock’s head, examining his name written in glittery ink along the sides.

“Valentine’s Day isn’t about efficiency, Mr. Spock,” Chapel said, her cheeks turning a bright pink as his dark eyes turned their precise assessment onto her. “It’s about love. It’s much more romantic to send handwritten letters than digital ones.”

Spock hummed, perhaps unconvinced.

“Romance, Nurse Chapel, does not preclude the possibility of responsible resource management.”

 _Words to live by,_ Jim thought, grinning to himself.

“What time is the card exchange tomorrow, lieutenant?”

“0900 hours, captain,” said Lieutenant Uhura, casting a warm smile to Chapel as the nurse scurried to the other side of the Bridge, delivering letterboxes. “Right at the top of shift.”

That gave them a little over fifteen hours to prepare.

“Now remember, crew,” Jim said, swivelling in his chair to address the perimeter of work stations around him. “This is a mandatory event for Bridge personnel. I don’t want to see any half-hearted valentines.”

The group met him with beaming smiles. “Yes, sir!”

“Captain?”

He turned to Spock. The Vulcan tipped his head, contemplatively.

“I appreciate this attempt to bolster morale. However, from what I have gathered from my research, this holiday is highly inappropriate to celebrate in a professional setting.”

“Why, Mr. Spock! You’ve been researching Valentine’s Day?”

The idea was utterly charming.

As expected, charm was negligible to Mr. Spock's analysis.

“It was only prudent, sir, as I am unfamiliar with its standard procedures.”

Jim resisted a smile at the phrase _standard procedures._ On Spock’s lips, even formalities sounded delightful.

Though Jim was a bit biased in that area, admittedly.

Still, this would prove interesting. Jim crossed one leg over the other, excited to hear the degree of human folly it took to dream of pink hearts during service hours.

“Please, enlighten me on my breach of ethics, Mr. Spock.”

“Is it correct to state that Valentine’s Day is primarily focused on romantic love?”

“Primarily, yes.”

“And the cards you have instructed us to exchange – they are meant to communicate this fundamental sentiment?”

“Your conclusion?”

Spock frowned. “It is incredibly problematic, sir.”

At the helm, a giggle escaped from Chekov, who, upon inspection, seemed to be desperately suppressing laughter.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Spock.” Jim shook his head lightly. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

Though he could guess where Spock was going with this, he didn’t feel like stopping him. There was a unique pleasure in humouring a Vulcan lecture every now and then. Jim wasn’t sure why, but something about his articulation, his mathematical exactitude in expressing himself, was simply very attractive.

Maybe that was what he had first fallen in love with. Jim was always trying to pinpoint exactly what it had been, having lost track over the years he had grown to admire his intelligent, brave, sensitive, kind, beautiful—

“Romantic love between senior officers is expressly condemned by Starfleet Code,” Spock was elaborating as Jim blinked back into reality. “To enforce the staff aboard this ship to engage in misdemeanours, essentially without purpose—”

“Enforce? Now, Mr. Spock, surely you aren’t accusing me of being a tyrant.”

Spock performed a double-take, or at least the Vulcan equivalent of one.

“Certainly not.” He sounded quite offended at the suggestion. “I merely wish you to be aware of the implications of your orders.”

“I can always count on you for that.” Jim rose from his seat, sauntered over to the guardrail. “But I’m afraid your analysis is not entirely comprehensive. While Valentine’s Day is _primarily_ a romantic holiday, that does not mean other kinds of love aren’t celebrated.”

“That’s right. Like familial love,” supplied Uhura from the comm. desk.

“Or the love of a good whisky,” said Scotty, making one of his engineering trainees chuckle.

“Or love of Mother Russia!”

“Or the kind shared between friends,” Jim offered, leaning against the rail. “There are infinite kinds of love that can be felt, or given to others. Part of our mission as officers, in fact, is to explore and expand our definition of that simple feeling. And I think Valentine’s Day is an excellent opportunity for the Enterprise crew to do so.”

Spock considered the point. Then, he nodded.

“That is acceptable. Under that definition, I have no objection.”

“Then you’ll participate?”

Spock raised a brow. “It is mandatory, is it not?”

“Only if you want it to be.”

“I do not understand.”

Jim smiled, “Well, I’m no tyrant, after all.”

The answer made Spock hesitate, perhaps recalculating his options. He turned aside, took up the letterbox once more.

“I…shall participate, with your approval, captain.”

“I give it freely.” Jim bounced the flat of his palm against the guardrail, a gesture that communicated that the matter was settled. “I’m sure you won’t regret it. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re the most popular officer of the bunch.”

As expected, Spock immediately dissented.

“There is no function within the celebration to measure popularity. Furthermore, as each officer is required to send one valentine to each of their peers, it is assured that we will all obtain an equal number of cards.”

“Oh?” Jim leaned forward, as casually as he could without revealing his game. “Are you certain about that, Mr. Spock? Don’t tell me after all that research you neglected to study the practice of secret admirers.”

Spock straightened in his seat. “I am not in the habit of neglecting important information purposefully, sir.”

“Of course not.” Jim held up a hand. “My apologies. I’m sure you’re right. The chances of secret admiration happening on this ship would be astronomical, I’m sure.”

Spock merely frowned, and rotated back to his station.

Strolling to the captain’s chair, Jim coached himself to play it cool. Within, however, he thrummed with excitement.

He could only imagine how the Vulcan would react to the influx of illogical sentiment to come.


	2. Heart-to-Heart

Valentine’s Day arrived.

Maybe it was a little silly for a grown man, a Starfleet captain at that, to be so excited over such a simple prospect. But with a buzz in the air, and seeing the enthusiastic grins on every crew member’s face, Jim didn’t feel silly at all.

The crew had really gone all out. Each letterbox on the Bridge was full to bursting. There were enough chocolates and paper hearts and affectionate greetings to fill the first hour of official duty.

Jim’s spirits were lifted. Simple as it was, their collective joy reaffirmed his belief in the goodness of the people surrounding him, and his bond with those he liked to think of as family. 

Everyone was making the rounds, thanking each other. A particularly heart-warming moment was had when Nurse Chapel hurried onto the Bridge, blubbering over Lieutenant Uhura’s written declaration of love. Their kiss saw the crew erupt in cheers.

It was very sweet. But it touched Jim’s gentler instincts in a deeper way, a way that made his heart twinge as he watched their easy affection, their open love for each other.

Though he was privileged to be a captain, the honour was not without sacrifice, nor was his life free from painful reminders of what he lacked, what he wanted most.

_A beach, someone to walk beside._

A Valentine.

At least he knew what he wanted.

Amidst all the hubbub and celebration, Spock sat at his station, dutifully noting changes on the interstellar scanner.

_Typical._ Jim found it adorable, in the strictly logical sense, of course.

“You know you’re allowed to take a moment for yourself,” Jim reminded him gently, assuming his usual post on the guardrail at Spock’s side.

“Unlike humans, I do not possess the desire to seek out release from professional duty. The work itself is equal to ‘taking a moment’, in my case.”

Nevertheless, Spock retracted the scanner.

“I assume you wish to speak about the valentine exchange?”

“Yes. Thank you for the card, Mr. Spock.”

Jim had brought it with him; glanced to it.

It was made from unassuming, regulation card stock. On the front, it stated: _Captain James T. Kirk, my superior officer, for Valentine’s Day_ \- without any embellishment.

Inside, a series of hand-rendered sketches of the Enterprise, more detailed than even Starfleet specs. Aesthetically pleasing, to be sure, but comically technical. Not at all in the sappy human tradition. 

The only other text read: _You are my friend, and for this I am grateful. It is pleasant to share an acquaintance with you. – Spock_.

Really, Jim didn’t know what he had expected. From anyone else, it would seem like a joke, maybe even a veiled insult. Yet, from Spock’s hand, the valentine scanned with a marked forethought, intention. Jim couldn't help but imagine that Spock had crafted it with particular care. 

Pleasant, after all, was a strong word for a Vulcan.

He looked up, hoping his beaming smile conveyed his heart. “It’s very you.”

“I hope it is not too forward.”

Jim huffed, nearly laughing aloud. _God, is that his version of forward?_

“Oh, no, I like it. It’s… suitable, I’d say, given the circumstances.”

Spock’s posture straightened. “That is gratifying news, sir.”

“I see you received quite the bundle.”

And here he couldn’t help but chuckle.

There were so many cards at Spock’s station, they stacked across every available surface. Three hundred and twelve, he knew, would be the final count, more than ten times the number of anyone else on the ship.

“It is quite anomalous.” Spock turned to assess the pile; Jim smirked behind his back. “Your comment yesterday appeared to be prescient – I apologize for dismissing your expertise.”

Jim had never utilized his basic Federation espionage training more. If he kept a straight face, it was miraculous.

“You mean they all came from someone in particular?”

Spock nodded, taking the matter with enormous sobriety.

“The majority were sent by an anonymous individual – exactly as you predicted.” A thought darkened his expression. “It is rather coincidental. I undertook research just last evening into the phenomena of anonymity, so that I might better understand your point. This is nearly a textbook instance.”

“Really? How mysterious.” Jim stepped closer, pretending to study the valentines. “You must have quite the admirer.”

“Perhaps. I cannot be certain of the sender’s intent. With your permission, I shall read a selection now.”

“You mean you haven’t done so already?”

“No. I had to record positional changes within the star system, as is standard at the beginning of shift.”

It was really on Jim for not knowing that answer off by heart.

So, with smothered anticipation, Jim watched as Spock read the first dozen valentines.

Well, “read” was an understatement. Federation articles had been put into law with less scrutiny than Spock afforded the glitzy cards. He appeared to be scientifically compartmentalizing every pen stroke and scrap of lace, indeed, every iota of mushy human sentiment.

Jim wasn’t sure if it was flattering or nerve-wracking. Spock’s expression did not alter an inch the whole time.

Part way through—

“Captain!”

—a crew member hailed Jim across the Bridge, having missed their earlier opportunity to thank him. He strolled across to meet them, and did his best through their minute or two of holiday-centred conversation not to glance back.

He did have some dignity to preserve, after all.

But, finally turning around, he found Mr. Spock still focused upon the cards. Or rather, on one feature.

In Spock’s hand was a single flower blossom. An alien variety, with alien colours; purple-green, with a broad white stripe up its petals as though it had been painted, not grown.

Jim remembered. He had pruned it in haste last night, after scouring the ship’s catalogue for something more memorable than red roses. In his rush to meet the morning deadline, he had attached it to one of the many cards inexpertly, leaving it somewhat crushed.

It was simple, unadorned. Probably the plainest thing about the admittedly garish cards.

Yet Spock observed it differently from all the rest. There was no coldness, no objectivity in his gaze. In fact, he did not seem to be analysing its properties at all – merely appreciating its beauty.

The thought gave Jim butterflies.

“Andorian agapanthus,” Spock correctly identified, as Jim approached.

“I’m sure it's old hat for a flower person like yourself.”

Spock looked up. “A flower person?”

“Someone who likes flowers.” In the slight pause, Jim felt his hands move together anxiously. “You… _do_ like flowers, right?”

“Indeed. Botany is perpetually fascinating.” He rotated the bloom between his fingertips. His lips curved upward, in his not-quite-a-smile way. “In fact, I am partial to this specimen in particular. I have been undertaking its rudimentary study as a recreational pursuit.”

“Oh!” That was equal to gushing praise. Jim beamed. “I’m glad I—ah, to know that. Your admirer made a good choice.”

“A rather intriguing choice, I should say. If they dispense with anonymity, it will be fascinating to know their reasoning.”

“If? You mean you’re not going to try to figure out who it is?”

“No.” Spock’s head cocked to one side, inquisitive. “What purpose would such an effort serve?”

Jim had an answer, but it wasn’t to be said on the Bridge, in front of the crew, or directly to Spock’s face without a stronger dose of courage than he had taken this morning.

“I don’t know,” he bluffed, instead. “If someone sent me hundreds of anonymous cards, I’d be curious to know who it was. It’s very romantic, don’t you think?”

“Perhaps.” Spock did not sound convinced. “To someone seeking romance, I grant the appeal.”

Jim felt his spirits deflate. “Then, you’re… not seeking.”

“No. I am certain in my interpersonal requirements. I do not need to explore outside options, nor do I wish to incentivize those who would hide behind anonymity.”

“Oh.” That was a blow to his ego if there ever was one. But Jim nodded, feigning friendly interest. “Well, it was a nice gesture, in any case.” 

Spock said nothing more, but the care with which he set the bloom upon the control panel suggested he agreed.

*

When shift ended, alpha crew trudged to the turbo lift, and beta shift filed in, moving like clockwork past each other.

As usual, Jim hung back, letting the other officers take the lift first. He wasn’t the type that liked leaving his post. There was something that needed to be savoured in captaining a ship like the Enterprise, an indefinable quality that made him wish he could linger on the Bridge forever. 

“Captain.”

Spock came to stand at his side, as the line dwindled. He was an amusing image: a walking bundle of valentines with a deadpan.

“May I speak with you?”

“Spock, you don’t have to ask.” Jim touched his arm lightly, then jerked his thumb toward the turbo lift. “Ride down with me?”

Nodding once, Spock followed him into the lift. The doors swished shut, Jim set their respective destinations, since Spock’s hands were quite literally full.

“My phrasing may have imbued more importance than I intended,” Spock prefaced, raising one brow slightly. “I merely wish to express my thanks for organizing this interpersonal event.”

“It’s a fun custom, isn’t it?”

“No, sir.”

The honest answer made Jim laugh.

Spock shifted his hold on the pile of valentines. “I understand its value in greater detail, however.”

“Glad you got something out of it.”

A pause. There was something in Spock’s expression – the set of his mouth, the hesitant flick of his gaze – that caught Jim’s attention.

“Was that all?” he pressed, gently.

Spock did not respond right away. He looked down to his arms, full of lacy and glittery and emotional greetings.

“I have never been told that I am loved before.”

The sentence hit Jim like a fifty-pound weight.

“Never?”

Spock shook his head.

“Perhaps that is too absolute. I know that certain others love me – my mother for example. However, I have always been informed of these individuals’ affections after explicit request for such knowledge, or in heightened circumstances. No one has ever offered to share their love without force or ulterior motive. It has never simply been a fact.”

“Oh, Spock.”

His empathy was robbing him of the right words. For all that Spock guarded himself, for all the humour Jim took from his emotionless front, he was uniquely privileged to have seen glimpses of Spock’s inner sensitivities, and, at times, his sorrow.

And now, Jim wanted to be near that gentle heart, and offer comfort to the man who deserved so much, and whom he loved more than anything.

He placed a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry if this silly holiday brought up bad memories.”

“It did not.” Astonishingly, a slight smile pulled at Spock’s lips. “Quite the contrary. Your suggestion has allowed me to receive the knowledge I have searched for all my life. I know that this crew loves me, in all love’s diversity and dedication. For that, I can only be grateful.”

There were too many emotions swirling in his chest, building in his throat. So, Jim just nodded, squeezed his arm.

The doors swished open. Spock inclined his head, then stepped away from Jim’s touch, exited. Jim was left with a sudden dearth of feelings, things he wanted to say.

His hand lingered, outstretched into the empty air.

Oh, God. He had to tell him everything.

That was so foolish. It was Spock who’d warned of regulation, who frowned at the idea of senior officer romances, but Jim’s heart leapt past the point of returning to logic.

Spock wished to be loved, to know he was loved.

And Jim would not fail him in something so important.


	3. Bearable

Reaching the door to Spock’s quarters, Jim smoothed his hair for what must have been the thirtieth time that evening. Which was quite a feat, considering he also juggled a box of chocolates and giant bouquet of Andorian agapanthus between his hands.

Ok. Maybe he’d gone a little overboard. Flowers, chocolates, and a plan to confess his undying love was a bit ambitious for one evening, even for him. 

But Jim could only think of Spock’s delicate smile, the shyness with which he confessed to never hearing words of love. He thought of all his own solitary Valentine's Days, the many more Spock must have spent alone. 

Jim would be damned before he let Spock go lonely for another second.

So, this was it. A moment he had dreamed of for nigh on two years. He drew a steadying breath.

_Happy Valentines Day, Mr. Spock. I love you._

“Come,” Spock responded, as Jim leaned on the buzzer. 

The doors swished open.

“Happy Valentines Day, Mr. Spock.”

But thundering forward, romantic paraphernalia thrust before him, there was no Mister in sight for Jim to deliver to.

“Spock?”

“Apologies, captain.”

The voice came from the bathroom, Spock striding into view a moment later.

“I was attending to…”

Spock’s gaze fell upon the gifts in Jim’s hands. For a moment he stood still, seemingly rendered speechless.

“Maybe it’s silly to have waited for a holiday to tell you.” Jim’s mouth was dry; he wet his lips. “But believe me, I’ve wanted to do this for so long.”

“Oh, captain.”

Spock turned away, a hand moving to his face. Jim’s heart overflowed. 

“Spock, I lo—!”

“Was such a presentation necessary?”

The words stopped Jim mid passionate leap. “I beg your pardon?”

“The flowers.” Spock produced a small sigh. “You brought them for me, I assume?”

“Well, uh… yes?”

“Captain, I sincerely wish you had refrained.”

Spock rotated back. There was a distinct weariness in his expression.

“Over the past hour, I have received seventeen bundles of Terran flora from members of this crew. This averages to a total of one hundred and thirty eight specimens, which have been ruined by this illogical human practice.”

“Ruined?”

Jim looked down at the bundle. He had taken great pains to keep it in tact.

“No, no! These are just cut. They’ll last a few days.”

“They should have lasted several months, if not for your decision to have them severed from their roots.”

Oh. Good point. Jim had never thought of the custom in such a way, but it had a grim logic, when put like that. 

Spock pursed his lips, turned his gaze to the agapanthus.

“It is regrettable that you chose this classification of flower. There is a limited stock aboard ship, unlikely to be replenished until next quarter.” Spock lifted a wry brow. “Though perhaps that is fortunate, given the human aptitude for shortening plant life en masse.”

A warmth crept up the back of Jim’s neck.

“ _Kaiidth._ I shall do what I can to minimize the damage.”

Spock took the flowers from his hands, striding efficiently back to the bathroom.

Jim hastened after him.

“I’m sorry if I offended you – and for killing the flowers. It wasn’t my intention, I hadn't even thought about it like that.”

“Your lack of foresight is self-evident, captain. I do not require excuse or explanation.”

Ouch. Still, Jim felt like he owed Spock one. His romantic dreams for tonight were unravelling before his eyes.

“Yes, of course, I know, but—”

Stepping through the doors, Jim’s words trailed off.

Their shared bathroom was transformed. A lush variety of flowers – all seventeen Spock described – filled the space, clustered in makeshift vases on every flat surface. What rich variety of colours. Dusky pink roses, vibrant orchids, pale lilies, dark violets, and now – as Spock filled the toothbrush holder with water – fragile green agapanthus. The whole room was made afresh, the very air sweetened with nature’s ardour.

Jim looked around, momentarily awed.

“I didn’t realize how popular you are amongst the crew.”

Spock huffed. “Wasted resources are no compliment.”

Oh. Right.

He had been extremely selfish. Valentine’s Day was supposed to be about others – and he had hoped to offer Spock happiness. So what had he done? Ignored everything but his own human traditions, destroyed flowers, and expected Spock to swoon over him? That was illogical, even to himself. 

_Shit, and you’re still holding a giant box of chocolates – Spock doesn’t even like chocolate, what the hell were you--??_

This plan was going down the tubes. Jim ditched the box behind a large cluster of tiger lilies, hoping Spock wouldn’t notice. 

“That will have to suffice.”

Spock's expression did not suggest satisfaction, as he turned from the agapanthus. Jim felt himself rock anxiously on his feet, strapped for how to amend his mistakes.

“I hope I haven’t caused you too much grief.”

“Grief, captain?”

“No, uh, I meant trouble, not…” Jim breathed a sheepish laugh. “Clearly, I’m not succeeding in any regard tonight.”

Spock shook his head. “You have caused no lasting difficulty. Moreover, there is no further opportunity to do so. Your holiday offering is undoubtedly the last of the evening.”

Jim remembered, in a flash, the giant teddy bear he had ordered.

“Oh, undoubtedly,” he chuckled.

_Fuck!_

Spock seemed to catch a glimpse of his inner franticness, as Jim ran through every possible way to get out of the room and cancel that stupid, stupid _, stupid—!!_

“Captain?”

His dark gaze grew more calculating, perceptive.

“What could have possibly inspired you to such an action?”

There were immediate, dangerous answers. _You. How much I love you – how I needed to show it, because you deserve to be shown, to be loved._

Those were liable to have him nerve pinched into next Tuesday.

Jim rubbed the back of his neck.

“You like flowers.” It sounded irrational, overly simplistic even to his own ears. “You…said you did, anyhow.”

“Liking flowers does not necessarily correlate to wishing to possess them. Surely you are aware of that.”

Jim’s heart sunk to the floor. “I should have been.”

“Mr. Spock!”

The unfamiliar voice cut through the gloom of his inner chastisement. Both Jim and Spock shot a questioning glance at each other, then to the open door.

Jim stepped forward, peered into the room.

Ensign Wiley stood in the middle of Spock’s quarters, struggling under the weight of…

_Oh no._

A five-foot teddy bear.

It was worse than he remembered it. The bear was fat, fuzzy brown, and held a heart stamped with the words BE MINE. It made his intention so obvious that it hurt.

At his side, he felt Spock stiffen.

“Oh—Mx. Wiley,” he said, his usual calm tone strangely disrupted.

A swoop of mortification curdled in Jim’s stomach.

“Take it back!” Jim blurted, rushing forward as if he could hide the giant stuffed embarrassment. “There’s been a change of plans.”

“Ah, no, ensign—” Spock hastened into the room, evidently eager to beat Jim to the punch. “My apologies, I… ah, it is suitable to be placed there.”

Wiley started to lug it where Spock directed.

“No!” Jim was on pure instinct, not thought. “Don’t put it down!”

Wiley stopped, made to turn.

“Ensign, follow your original orders.”

“Those orders are counteracted! Take it away.”

Wiley was performing a distressed dance of split loyalties. What was visible of their face beneath the monstrosity of the bear was utterly bewildered.

Spock swivelled to face Jim.

“Captain, I do not believe you comprehend—”

“I do. It was a mistake, just let me corr—”

“Captain?”

Both commanding officers paused, mid-argument. They slowly turned, to glance back through the bathroom door, to where the distant, fourth voice called.

“In here,” Jim replied, cautiously.

The doors to Jim’s quarters swished open. Through the long passage of the shared bathroom, another ensign stood framed in the entranceway, carrying…

A second bear.

“Sorry if it’s a little bigger than you asked for, but it’s was the last one left. Where do you want it?”

Jim frowned. Two bears? He hadn’t ordered two, had he?

“What? No, I already…”

_Wait._

Realization hit Jim like a phaser to the head. Valentine gifts were delivered to the person who ordered them, not the recipient. Which could only mean...

He looked to Spock.

At once, breath deserted him. The pride, the cool affectation worn at the science station was gone from the man before him. Spock’s gaze had such feeling that Jim chided his imagination for being too conservative.

Oh, _heaven._

“Captain?” the ensign in the other quarters called. “Where should I put it?”

“Just wherever,” Jim said, waving his hand vaguely, not daring to break the burning eye contact he now held with Spock.

“You are dismissed, Ensign Wiley,” Spock said. The hollows of his cheeks were a vivid green.

He sure hoped they waited until the ensigns saw themselves out – but couldn’t have said for sure.

They collided.

Hands buried into shirts, threaded through the other’s hair, caressing with all the passion that had been shackled by ‘Fleet formality, and pained niceties, and aching, unrequited need. But now… unchained…what _bliss_. Spock’s breath was warm on his cheek, Jim’s merely a gasp, as they reverently whispered their love over and over, until it echoed against their kisses.

“Spock—oh, Spock!”

“ _Ashayam t’nash-veh_!”

Jim pulled back. “Are you still angry about the flowers? I can talk to Sulu, I’ll issue orders for their repopulation.”

“Vulcans cannot be angry, nor can flowers distract from my feelings for you. Please, captain.” Spock traced Jim’s lips with his thumb. “ _Please_.”

Nothing further need be said.

They locked together for a long moment, an embrace of their full bodies. Then, slowly, they unwound their desperate clutches into something softer.

Fingers moved to find their opposite, their partner. Jim felt a thrum of electricity light inside him, as their first fingers brushed. Thought – unity of mind – _love, how I have loved you._

He sighed, sinking onto Spock’s shoulder, overcome by gratitude, his luck, and his rejoicing heart.

“It was you who sent the anonymous valentines. You are my secret admirer.”

“And you’re mine, it would seem.”

“Indeed.” Spock hummed softly. “I apologize that I never thanked you for your cards.”

“What do you think you’re doing now?”

He felt Spock’s lips curve upward, as he graced Jim’s forehead with a kiss. For a moment, they simply held in place, swaying on their feet.

“I…” Jim chuckled, squeezing his arms tighter around Spock’s frame. “I’m not sure where to go from here. You’ve caught me by surprise.”

“I share the sentiment, captain. This is most unexpected.”

“Not captain.” Jim’s finger moved to touch the insignia on his chest. “There’s no authority in this, Spock. I’m not your captain here.”

“I do not call you captain in acknowledgment of authority, Jim.” Spock pulled back, so they could look at each other. His dark eyes radiated warmth. “You are my captain, in all things, and always shall be.”

That meant more than Jim could possibly express in a thousand valentines.

He leaned to rest his forehead against Spock’s. The heavy, anchored press in return spoke silently of love, and love’s sincerity.

But there was a gap in this silence. One that needed addressing. 

‘What are we, Spock?” Jim murmured. He ran a hand down his chest. “What do you want to be?”

“Clarify.”

The word was gently spoken. It was not a defence, or a rejection.

Jim decided there was no other course to but to throw caution to the wind. He took Spock’s hands into his own. 

“I love you. I’ve always loved you. I want to be your partner.”

Spock’s eyes widened. “You are asking to be my husband?”

“No! Uh—” That threw him. But seeing that the look on Spock’s face was strangely keen, he cracked a smile. “Well… someday, if you want. But we should probably date first.”

“Ah. Indeed, that would seem prudent.” Spock bobbed his head. “I am willing.”

“Just willing?”

“Yes.” Spock blinked, then seemed to recognize what Jim was asking. “Ah, no. I am also quite enthused at the prospect.”

This was completely absurd. Thinking over the past half hour, this was the most expected, yet wildly outlandish start to a relationship Jim had ever experienced.

And yet, there was no other way for them, was there?

“Good.” Jim nodded, not immune to this bizarre turn of events, or his remarkable fortune. “Good.”

Spock produced a small frown.

“I think it inadvisable that we retain both ursines.”

“Urs—? Oh, the bears!” Jim laughed. “I’d forgotten all about them.”

They stepped apart, looking to where the one large teddy bear lay. It took up nearly a quarter of the room, consuming the coffee table in the corner.

“Not exactly in line with your Vulcan minimalism, huh?”

“No.”

“Yeah, I don’t know what we’re gonna do. One we could probably get away with, but two of them…” He sighed, ran a hand over his forehead. “It’ll take a hell of an operation.”

Jim had a vision of trying to lug the giant bears down corridors in the dead of night, beaming them onto some godforsaken resort planet. How were they gonna explain that one on Starfleet records?

“I do not think it necessary to dispose of both, captain.” Spock tilted his head. “As you say, it would reduce the probabilities of crew suspicion. Additionally, I would not be opposed to storing the remaining bear in my quarters.”

Jim blinked. “You wouldn’t?”

“Indeed. It possesses some advantageous features.”

“Such as?”

Spock’s gaze fluttered to the floor. “It is soft.”

Jim couldn’t help but grin. “Far be it from me to argue against such sound logic, Mr. Spock.”

Still, Spock frowned.

“I apologize for contributing to this inconvenience. I mistakenly considered that a large present was my only option to convey my feelings, since this holiday functions by means of material goods.”

“Oh, sweetheart, don’t beat yourself up.” Jim moved to his side, sliding his arms around Spock’s waist. He chuckled. “Besides, I’m the one who made the questionable gift choices, not you.”

“I am aware. But I am certain my unfamiliarity with the customs did not aid matters.”

Spock took Jim’s hand in his.

“Your efforts to include me in this holiday have been wholly appreciated, no matter their nature. It was my hope that I might offer some of the contentment you have given me, and to communicate that you are in possession of my deepest regard.”

Then Spock did something quite miraculous. He brought Jim’s hand to his lips, and placed a gentle kiss against his fingers.

“I love you, Jim. You are my ideal partner.”

The words left him quite breathless. And perhaps more.

Spock’s brows drew together, worriedly.

“Captain, your eyes have taken on additional moisture in the past ten-point-five-four seconds, which would indicate the production of tears. If this has been caused by my words being indelicate, or otherwise unwanted—”

The apology cut off as Jim crushed into him.

“ _Spock_.” He shut his eyes against sting of joyful tears. “I love you too.” 

He felt Spock’s frame relax. His strong arms slid around Jim’s torso.

“I am unsure of why humans deem this qualification necessary,” Spock murmured, “but I hope you have had a sufficiently happy Valentine's Day.”

There was no doubt, Jim thought, moving to press his smile into Spock’s lips, that this was the happiest of them all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading! Happy Valentine's Day!!!

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all! I've been sitting on this fic for months, waiting for the Valentine season to post it. At last! 
> 
> Fun Fanfic Fact: the story about Jim missing out on valentines day as a kid is inspired by a real life story that William Shatner talked about (though idk the source of the interview anymore). 
> 
> (also you can scream Spirk at me at fictionandtheatre.tumblr.com)


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